


A Fortunate Stroke of Serendipity

by heartfeltword



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Blood, Depression, Hopeful Ending, Sad Grunkle Stan, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, angst like woah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 01:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6832876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartfeltword/pseuds/heartfeltword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan Pines was out of money. Out of luck. And out of reasons to keep going.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fortunate Stroke of Serendipity

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't been feeling too great lately and instead of writing fluffy little drabbles I wrote this angst. I like to think Stan considered suicide during his homeless period. Poor guy didn't have much going for him.

The hotel reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. Stanley gulped down another mouthful of cheap whiskey. It warmed his stomach and made his vision blur a bit more. He’d spent the last of his money on the bottle of whiskey and a pack of smokes. Both of which were almost gone. His head felt fuzzy, his lungs burned from the cigarette smoke. His judgement was blurred beyond belief. He set his plastic cup down next to the almost empty bottle of whiskey. All his money was gone. He wouldn’t be able to pay the rent for his hotel room tomorrow and he had a little more than a quarter tank of gas left in his car. Life was not looking so good.

Stan buried his face into his hands and let out a sob. He’d fucked his life up so much. He’d gone and destroyed his brother’s project - he wondered if it was really an accident - and he had been thrown out. Seven years now he had been homeless bouncing from state to state doing various things both legal and illegal. He didn’t know what to do anymore. He was a failure. He couldn’t make millions he couldn’t make twenty bucks for fuck’s sake. He had nothing.

Stan wiped his eyes telling himself the tears were because of the cigarette smoke. He wasn’t crying. He was a man and men didn’t cry. Even when their entire world was fucked up and pointless and they didn’t want to live anymore. Stan lit another cigarette and took a deep drag from it, the one prior was still burning in his ashtray already forgotten. The smoke pooled in his lungs and burned but he didn’t care. He wanted more. He needed more.

He blew smoke out with a forceful puff and stared at the knife beside his whiskey bottle. He’d cleaned it and sharpened it until it was perfect. It glinted at him with the flickering of the cheap hotel lights above him. It taunted him. He wasn’t strong enough to do what he  _ really _ wanted to. He sucked on his cigarette, his eyes trained on the knife, as he debated. His head was already fuzzy from all the alcohol making his decisions harder to make. He wanted to. So badly.

Things weren’t looking bright. Hadn’t for several months now. But this was the first time he was honestly considering it. He’d cleaned the knife with careful consideration  _ before _ he started to drink. This was going to be it. He would do it. Everything was gone to shit. Last he heard from his ma - the one relative who talked to him - was five months ago and was chattering about his baby sibling and all the accomplishments the booger was already making. Oh and then she talked about his perfect brother and all the things he was doing. She didn’t ask about how Stanley was doing. She didn’t have to. She knew he wasn’t doing well. Maybe that was what set the seed for him to seriously consider ending his life.

Stan sighed. “You’re being a fuckin’ pussy,” he hissed to himself, “man up and fuckin’ end it.” He huffed out smoke and grabbed his bottle of whiskey before downing the rest of it. It burned everything as it pooled in his stomach. He slammed the plastic bottle down and stabbed his cigarette out into his ashtray. This was it. He sucked in a deep breath as he picked up the knife. His eyes darted to his exposed wrists, they were so pale and clean like a canvas with just a bit of blue veins. He could paint his canvas red. He would. He was going to do it.

His palms were sweaty as he tried to get a good grip on the knife. Now that he had the sharp knife in his hand he wasn’t sure he could do it. His body was starting to shake and he felt tears prick at his eyes. He’d let his life come to this. He’d let his life go down the fucking drain. He’d fucked everything up and he wasn’t worth it. He didn’t deserve to breathe anymore. He twisted the knife around and toyed with the edge of the blade against his thumb. Blood welled up immediately. It barely hurt; his body numbed from the alcohol. He could do it no problem

His body shuddered as he tipped the knife towards his pale skin. The phone rang. Stan jolted causing the knife to dig into his flesh. Stan swore as the blood immediately swelled up, he reached for the phone, watching the blood trickle down his arm.

“Hello?” He cracked.

“Hi there Stanley!” It was his ma. Bless her heart.

“Hey Ma.” Stanley put the knife on the nightstand and ran a shaky hand through his hair.

“Are you alright?” She asked. “I was just talking to a customer and I got a very clear image that I needed to call you.”

“I’m…” Stanley was going to lie, he was good at it, but his eyes darted to the bloody knife and he let out a small sob.

“Oh, Stanley, sweetie.” His mother cooed. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry, ma.” Stan sobbed to his mother.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” She never seemed as furious over the whole science fair project as his father was. Not to mention Stanford was doing so well now a days. “But, I have some news, I was going to call in the morning.” Stanley almost laughed aloud. If she called in the morning he’d be dead. “Stanford moved to this town in Oregon and he has a phone…” She paused, “I was going to give you his number, if you wanted, baby.” Ma Pines knew the twins hadn’t talked in seven years but she was still trying to get them back together. She knew how close they had been, how inseparable, and it was tearing her apart not to have her babies together.

“Sure, just…” Stan decided to humor her. He wouldn’t call. He hadn’t when she’d given him the number to his college dorm. Stan switched the phone into his bloody hand so he could wipe his eyes, “lemme grab a pencil.”

“Sure, sure, baby.” Ma Pines was quiet and soft-spoken.

Stan dug into the nightstand and found a pad of paper and a pen with the hotel’s information on it. “Alright. I’m ready.” He perched the phone between his ear and shoulder as he tried to find a way to hold the pencil without getting blood anywhere. That tiny little nick had broken a dam that was now gushing blood all over the place. Yet it didn’t hurt. It was just an annoyance to see the bright red liquid getting everywhere.

Ma relayed the number and told Stan to call his brother. “He loves you.” What a joke. That asshole hadn’t bothered to see how Stan was doing in almost a decade. Fuck him. “Alright, sweetie,” Ma didn’t sound like she wanted to hang up, “I’ve gotta go… your father is getting home from work any minute… I love you, baby.”

“Love you too, Ma.” Stan sniffled.

She waited for a moment, Stan heard her sigh, and then  _ click _ she was gone.

Stan set down the phone, barely aware that his blood was smeared on the white phone, and started to sob. He crumpled up the paper and tossed it next to the knife. He couldn’t do it. Not now. Not after his mom knew to call him. He didn’t believe in that supernatural shit but it was freaky that she called him so late. He wiped his eyes and trudged into the bathroom to clean himself up. He didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do in the morning but he was going to be alive… at least for now.


End file.
